


Oral Fixation

by CC99trialanderrorgirl



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Coming In Pants, Fantasizing, M/M, Oral Fixation, Sensory Overload, basically an ode to sucking cock, is that ok to say in the tags? sorry if not, mike's weird brain, pen sucking, sexualization of mike's ubiquitous pens and highlighters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 09:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22190266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CC99trialanderrorgirl/pseuds/CC99trialanderrorgirl
Summary: Mike has a legit oral fixation. Harvey finds out.
Relationships: Mike Ross/Harvey Specter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am so fucking proud of this ngl and I hope you guys enjoy it too

Mike loves sucking cock. It isn’t something he advertises, and it isn’t (only) for the reasons you’d think, but it’s true. He does. He loves it. He loves the taste, the velvety softness wrapped around a hard core, the stretch of his lips as he takes one in deeply. He loves the scent, the musk of a man, and he loves the sounds the guy makes above him (because they always do – Mike is _good_ ). But most of all, he loves how it takes over his complete and full attention. Sucking cock is such an overpoweringly sensual experience that it shuts off all of the annoying, sometimes overwhelming chatter and calculations that his brain constantly makes, and so, in short, sucking cock _relaxes_ him.

Obviously, mike has a stressful job. And even more obviously, his preferred method of de-stressing isn’t something he can do in the office. So, he chews pens. He picks up the habit of sticking multiple highlighters in his mouth at once, swirling his tongue around the fat ends that press up against his palate as he works. It’s not the same as cock, but the oral stimulation is soothing nonetheless. And it works well for him, too. Until Harvey starts noticing.

The first time it happens, it isn’t too big of a deal. Harvey comes in, stares for a minute, and then snaps at him to get that juvenile shit out of his mouth and get to conference room C pronto, because they’ve got a client. Mike rushes to comply, but misses the weight of the pink and yellow highlighters he’d just had jammed between his teeth more than a little. He gets through the meeting, just barely resisting the urge to stick his pen cap in his mouth as things get more and more heated. As soon as it’s over, Mike caves and pops the fat end of a Harvard law pen between his lips. Harvey gapes at him, and motions that Mike better return the pen the client just used to sign the affidavit to the legal pad at center of the table right the fuck now, before gaping at him for another full minute and finally turning and walking away. Mike feels weird about it, and Harvey looks at him funny for the rest of the day. So that doesn’t help. But he figures it’s a one time thing.

It isn’t.

Instead, it becomes A Thing. Every time Mike goes to put something in his mouth, Harvey is there. Mike would call it leering if he didn’t believe Harvey incapable of caring. Oh, he knows Harvey cares about him, but he also knows Harvey is a harsh judge of propriety, and Mike is under no illusions that his oral fixation isn’t weird. Because it is. He _knows_ it is. And yet, he still goes home every night and sticks the 7-inch dildo he stole from a past girlfriend in his mouth for a few minutes before he falls asleep. Hey, he would prefer to pick up a flesh and blood model, but he hasn’t got the time. The only men in his life these days are Trevor (from afar, and no way is Mike going _there,_ anyway), and Harvey, who is well, Harvey.

Fucking gorgeous, and fucking unattainable.

And probably fucking straight as cupid’s bittersweet arrow.

So Mike keeps it under wraps, and he keeps at least two highlighters firmly jammed in his mouth at all times. The press and weight of them help him to concentrate, help him to keep calm. The sensory input calms his brain down just enough so that he can focus its considerable power on getting these briefs done. He has shit to do, and he’s good at it. Who cares if he needs this little accommodation? To anyone else, it probably just looks like he’s hard at work. And _work_ it is…he’s never had to tap into this much of his weird brain power before, and it’s kind of taking its toll. No one needs to know that the highlighters shoved in between his lips are now a necessary part of his process, that without them he’d fall apart into an unfocused, anxious mess.

Then one day, Harvey takes the highlighters. Not just one of them, all of them. He even goes so far as to remove the extra packs in the supply room on both the floors that Mike’s badge gets him access to, and takes the big pens out of the conference rooms, too. (Mike knows, because he _checked_. Twice.) And now, Mike is rapidly approaching the point where he’s going to cry. It’s bad. The other associates are jeering at him (like that’s anything new), there are 5700 pages of legal briefs stacked on his desk, and his brain is fucking screaming at him, pinging from one thing to the next until Mike thinks he’s going to explode. The sheer barrage of it all is paralyzing. He sinks down into his chair, head in his hands, and tries to take deep breaths. If he’s not careful, this is going to turn into a panic attack.

 _Fuck_ he needs to get things done. There’s nothing for it. He’s going to have to ask.

Decided, he gets up. Blindly feeling for the reassuring press of the desk beneath his palms, he tries to steady himself before stumbling his way into Harvey’s office. He doesn’t even register Donna’s concerned stare as he passes by, fumbling the door handle once before he gets himself inside.

“I need to borrow one of your pens.” Mike says immediately, tone flat and yet brooking no argument.

Harvey laughs. It’s not a mean laugh. Mike knows Harvey thinks he’s just gently messing with a friend. He knows Harvey would be horrified to learn the truth of how awful Mike feels right now. And Mike doesn’t want to get into it, doesn’t want Harvey to know, can’t really. Because if he opens that can of worms, he’ll want something he can’t ask Harvey for, but also might not be able to stop himself from if his wires get crossed. His crush on his boss is nothing he can’t handle. He just can’t ever, ever think about Harvey’s cock.

 _Shit_.

“I need a pen, Harvey, _please_.” Mike’s voice breaks on the last word, damning and awful.

Harvey gets up from his desk, walks out from behind it, and right into Mike’s space. “Hey,” he says, “are you okay?”

“The pen, Harvey,” Mike croaks out.

It’s a testament to the distress that must be showing on Mike’s face right now that Harvey doesn’t say anything at all, just grabs one from the fancy holder on his desk, one of the ones he uses to sign contracts with clients no less, and hands it to Mike wordlessly.

“Sorry about this,” Mike mumbles, and sticks the fat end of it right in his mouth. He tries not to sigh audibly, but he knows a little something slips out. He sinks down onto Harvey’s black leather couch, the relief palpable as his brain starts to calm down.

He just sucks in silence for a while, laves his tongue around the rounded bulb of Harvey’s stupidly expensive pen until he feels grounded again. He is aware of Harvey sitting next to him, of the ground beneath his feet, the sweat on his brow, and the sun shining through Harvey’s huge glass windows. He wants to feel ashamed, but he’s too tired, too spent to muster up the energy to care. He slumps back against the couch, still moving the pen around in his mouth, and lets Harvey put one hand on his thigh and a stack of legal briefs in his lap.

“Glass walls,’ Harvey says, not unkindly. Mike understands. He can’t be looking to be having a meltdown in here if Jessica - or God forbid, _Louis_ \- should chance by. The stack of briefs gives them plausible deniability. Harvey is protecting him. It’s actually rather sweet. Mike sighs. Harvey waits another beat, then speaks.

“Do you want to tell me what that was?” he asks.

Mike hesitates. He shouldn’t. He can’t, really. But he loves Harvey (as a mentor, _as a mentor!)_ and he knows he owes him something. Plus, it would be really nice to just tell someone the truth for once.

“I have…” he starts, and then stops again before it all comes in a rush. “Well, it doesn’t really matter what it’s called. But I have it, and you took my highlighters, and _I need them_ ,” Mike says. It’s the best he can do. His face is burning.

“Okay,” Harvey says. And then, like he doesn’t understand and is maybe even a little insulted, furrows his brown and repeats, “This is about the highlighters?

“Um…yeah…” Mike sighs, defeated.

“My pen?” Harvey asks. “Why mine?”

“Because yours are the biggest,” Mike replies, honest and broken.

“And you need a large, bulbous-ended pen – or, or a highlighter,” he concedes when he sees Mike’s face, “ _why_ , exactly?” Harvey counters.

“Because if I don’t have something in my mouth, I freak out, okay?” Mike doesn’t mean to snap, but it comes out harsh. He makes himself apologize.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I’m embarrassed, okay? I never intended to have to tell my boss that I have some kind of weird oral fixation that is even weirder than normal, because if I don’t have something in my mouth, my brain goes all haywire and I basically have a meltdown.”

Mike braces himself for ridicule, maybe some good-natured teasing, but Harvey surprises him. “So it is kind of like a panic attack?” he asks, soft and slow.

Mike nods. “Yeah. That’s a close approximation, but it’s not exactly that. There’s some sensory stuff and some neurobiology that goes on, too. I think it’s linked to my eidetic memory, possibly the crash?” He shrugs, voice going up a little at the end.

“I see,” Harvey says, low.

“And the best way to calm yourself is with something in your mouth?” To his credit, Harvey does not laugh, and he only glances at mike’s swollen lips _once_. Mike appreciates this more than he can say.

“Um, yeah,” he responds lamely.

“Okay,” Harvey says, and gets up. He goes across the room, rummages in a drawer, and comes up with an armful of highlighters. “I’m sorry, Mike, “he says, “truly, I had no idea.” He looks stricken, deeply contrite.

Mike smiles, sweet and genuine, and says he forgives him. “You couldn’t have known.”

Mike starts to get up, but Harvey stops him. “Wait,” he says, and then he goes into the small supply cupboard in the wall. He comes back with a pen, and it’s one of the bulbous contract signing pens that he has specially made. He hands it to Mike.

“Here,” he says. “There’s no ink cartridge in that one yet. You can keep it in your suit pocket and, if you ever need it, you can go to the bathroom or whatever and…”

Harvey trails off, looking uncomfortable but determined.

Mike smiles, even as tears prick the corners of his eyes. “Thank you, Harvey,” he says. It’s literally the nicest thing anyone besides Gram has ever done for him.

Harvey smiles and ushers Mike out with a friendly hand on his shoulder and a concerned look on his face, like he’s worried whether Mike will be alright.

The rest of the day does go by uneventfully, at least by Pearson Hardman standards. But that night when Mike goes home, he sucks the pen instead of his stolen dildo. The cool metal is extra soothing. He thinks of how he got it, of Harvey, and, well…the wires get crossed.

 _Shit_.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Mike notices that Harvey looks tired. Like, really ragged. Which is something Harvey never, ever looks. But today, well, the evidence is all right there in front of him. Harvey looks like he barely slept at all, his suit is something less than immaculately pressed, and a couple pieces of his hair aren’t quite pulled into their regular coif.

Mike puts it down to nothing, hands Harvey the morning coffee he gets for him on his way in every day, and moves on. He buries himself in his work, and he completely misses the way that Harvey stares at the place where he knows his pen is tucked into the inner pocket of Mike’s suit jacket. But Harvey, he notices. He can’t _stop_ noticing. He kind of hates himself for it.

Even _Donna_ notices Harvey noticing. (But then again, what _doesn’t_ Donna notice?)

“Harvey…” she starts, but Harvey just waves her off, breezes past her into his office, and sits down at his desk. Two seconds later, he’s up again, putting on a blues record and rubbing his temples as he paces back and forth in front of the big glass windows. It’s 10am on a Friday, and there’s a glass of scotch in his hand. He doesn’t care.

Mike…likes to put things in his mouth.

Mike…is a genius with blue eyes and blonde hair and the most beautifully complicated brain Harvey has ever had the pleasure of meeting.

Mike…is _Mike_.

“Fuck,” Harvey growls, and just manages to stop himself from hurling his glass against the wall. He finishes the brown liquid left inside instead, then throws himself onto his couch. He can’t come on to his assistant. He can’t do that to Mike. Mike is, for all Harvey is in love with the man, also Harvey’s best friend. His only fucking friend in the world, really, unless you counted Donna and Jessica, but Harvey refuses to kid himself into thinking that he comes first in either their lives.

But with Mike…he knows, somehow, that he does.

Just like Mike will always come first for Harvey.

_He goes, I go._

It’s been a while now that Harvey has been dreaming of something a little more intimate. Something along the lines of, _he comes, I come_ , perhaps. Something like that. He stretches out on the couch, crosses his ankles, closes his eyes, the hand with the empty glass dangling down to the floor, and lets himself dream. Mike, all puppy eagerness and burning blue eyes, is on his knees at Harvey’s feet. Harvey is petting Mike’s hair, cooing sweet nothings at him as Mike takes Harvey’s cock out, slides it expertly into his mouth. The Mike in his imagination starts to suck, and Harvey lets out a groan, his hips making little tiny upward movements where he’s lying on his couch. In his office. At Pearson Hardman. At 11am. On a workday.

Shit.

It isn’t enough to jolt him out of his reverie. Mike is using tongue now, and hot wet suction in equal measure, just like the one-two punch Harvey has seen him use on the highlighters, the pens… _his_ pen.

Fuck.

He’s going to come.

He’s still wearing his suit.

He’s in his office, where the walls are glass and anyone could walk past.

He doesn’t care.

Mike Ross is sucking him off in his mind, and nothing and no one-

“Harvey?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harvey groans, and comes, with Mike standing over him, holding out a stack of briefs and wearing a stunned expression.

Harvey shuts his eyes again, tight.

This isn’t happening.

“Um, Donna?” Mike is saying. Harvey wants to die. He can hear Mike telling Donna to dim the lights, hear Mike’s cheap wingtips going around to pull the blinds that separate Harvey from the rest of the office when closed door meetings are necessary.

“So, that happened,” Mike says, and he sounds a lot less calm now than when he was focused on shielding Harvey from the humiliation of being buzzed in his office with come stains on his suit pants at noon on a Friday.

Harvey can’t open his eyes. For good measure, he moves his free hand over his face and covers it. He can hear Mike’s teeth sliding against the highlighter that Harvey is absolutely sure is in his mouth right now. He switches it from side to side periodically, and the plastic drags against his teeth with an audible clacking sound. Harvey hears that sound in his _dreams_.

God, this is a fucking _disaster._

Harvey is surprised to realize that he didn’t just think out loud – it’s Mike who has spoken the words.

“Yeah…” Harvey drawls, still hiding on his couch. “My pants are gross,” he says suddenly, eyes popping open, and he bursts out laughing.

A minute later, Mike joins in. The room is filled with loud, gut-deep guffaws for a while. When they finally both calm down, Mike is sitting next to Harvey’s legs on the couch. Harvey’s knees are squashed together against the back of the couch because Mike shoved them over to make room. He doesn’t really care. Mike puts a hand on Harvey’s thigh, and sighs.

“Shit, Harvey, what happened?” Mike says, and his tone is unreadable.

Harvey blushes, but fights the urge to close his eyes again. He’s Harvey Specter. He always closes.

“You happened, Mike,” he says, and holds Mike’s gaze as he says it.

“Shit,” Mike says again, and Harvey is really going to have to work on proper language with this kid. Then he thinks about Mike swearing in that same tone just before swallowing Harvey’s cock, and yeah, no, Mike can speak however he likes.

Harvey is, embarrassingly and somewhat implausibly, getting hard again.

Mike notices.

Mike Ross always fucking _notices_. Harvey watches as the fat highlighter from his coffee table goes into his associate’s mouth. Mike’s got three of them in there now, and it’s stretching his lips kind of obscenely. Harvey gets the rest of the way hard a lot faster than he’d hoped he would.

“Mike?” Harvey asks, tentative and still prone. “You stressed?”

“Yeah,” Mike says around the highlighters, and God, how does he do that? He only slurs slightly. Harvey has had whole conversations with this kid with his mouth stuffed full. How does that even _work_?!

“Wanna tell me why?” Harvey asks, putting the glass down on the floor and steepling his hands together over his stomach.

“Wires crossed,” Mike says.

Harvey just stares some more until Mike elaborates.

“Can’t ask.” Mike says. Okay, so not very enlightening. Unless…

“Mike…” Harvey says slowly. “Is there maybe something else you’d prefer to put in your mouth besides what you’ve got? Maybe…”

God, he can’t say it. If he says it and he’s wrong he could get fired for sexual harassment, he could get disbarred, he could…He could get _Mike_.

Mike Ross has always been worth the risk. So he takes it.

“Maybe next time you need to relax, you could suck _my_ _cock_ instead of a pen,” Harvey says, and he doesn’t even try to disguise the confusing mix of love and naked desperation in his eyes.

The highlighters fall onto the floor as Mike chokes on nothing but air.

Harvey smiles, but Mike keeps choking, and his breathing is getting worse, not better, almost like this is turning into a panic attack. Harvey sits up, abruptly and concerned, pats Mike on the back, presses his head down, and murmurs soothing things until Mike calms down.

“Shit, Harvey, sorry,” Mike says, grabbing all three highlighters up and laying them on the coffee table, taking incongruous care arranging them neatly despite the moment. Harvey isn’t even upset about the saliva on the glass. Really.

Mike keeps talking, and Harvey lets him, one hand still on Mike’s shoulder. “Sometimes when I get really excited or surprised or any strong emotion really…”

“Shh,” Harvey says, hating the shame in Mike’s voice. “I love the way your brain works.”

Mike smiles then, huge and wide and gorgeous.

There’s a small pause, then:

“I love _you_ ,” Harvey says next. Mike gapes. Harvey crowds in and kisses him, taking advantage of Mike’s open mouth.


	3. Chapter 3

Shit, Harvey tastes good. Mike can’t get enough. And dimly, he realizes, he’s not freaking out. Harvey’s tongue in his mouth, big and wet and putting pressure on his palate, is working just like the highlighters or the big law pens or, ideally, a dick would: it’s calming Mike down. Suppressing the synapses in his brain that freak out, soothing and smoothing out the edges until he’s left with nothing but a calm sort of buzz. It’s great. 

It’s also Harvey, and Mike is turned on as fuck right now.

But, he can’t blow Harvey in his office. Even though he’s pretty positive Harvey definitely just had an orgasm in here thinking about him. Ah, fuck, that’s so hot.

Blindly, Mike scrambles for Harvey’s Blackberry with the hand that isn’t currently on the back of Harvey’s neck, keeping their mouths fused together for all of fucking eternity. 

“Yes!” he rejoices against Harvey’s lips as he successfully gets the phone off the coffee table and into his palm. He presses buttons carefully, never even looking once. Harvey is still very much singularly focused on shoving his tongue as deep in Mike’s mouth as he can get it. 

All the gossipy paralegal girls are right, Mike thinks. Being the focus of such single-minded, intense attention is indeed mind-blowing. All of the Harvey Specter brain power and charm, focused exclusively on him…it’s a head rush, no doubt. 

But Mike has got plans.

“Harvey,” he says. “Earth to Harvey.” He snaps his fingers once, moving to climb off Harvey – and when exactly had he straddled his boss’s lap?

“Huh?” Harvey asks, breaking through the haze of lust so, so slowly. His brown eyes are almost black. Mike has to bite his lip to keep from coming in his pants when Harvey looks at him like that, intense and wanting. 

Shit.

“Car.” Mike says. One word answers are going to have to be enough for now. He drags Harvey up, hands him his briefcase to cover the stain on his ridiculously expensive and well-tailored slacks that leave literally nothing to the imagination right now, and pulls until Harvey traipses after him, eyes still a little glassy. 

Donna looks up as they pass her desk, smirks, and then quickly schools it into a professional expression. “Car club guys dropped the green Mustang off two minutes ago,” she says.

“Right,” Mike nods, and pulls Harvey along. Donna clears Harvey’s schedule without being told, then phones Norma to collect the money she just won from the office betting pool. The conversation goes like this: “They’re fucking… Yes, confirmed… Zero doubt…Pay up.” Then she sits back and smirks again.

Outside, Harvey has sobered up enough to drive them back to his condo. He’s weaving through midtown traffic like it’s nothing, the wind whipping up his hair as he drives the muscle car, one hand on the wheel, the other on Mike’s inner thigh. For his part, Mike is just trying his best to hold on. At this rate, he’s not going to make it to the condo. 

Embarrassed, he tells Harvey as much. 

“Well we can’t have that, can we?” Harvey drawls, and pulls into a parking garage.


	4. Chapter 4

Mike groans and jiggles his foot, desperately turned on by now. With Harvey’s hands busy steering and shifting through the gears, there’s nothing for it - he just sticks two of his own fingers in his mouth. Harvey glances to the side and sees him. He would laugh if the sight weren’t so ridiculously obscene. Instead, he gets even harder in his pants. Then he starts to plan. They’re two buildings away from his condo. He can probably get them in by walking through a couple of basements that he just happens to know how to get into.

Hey, being the best closer in New York has its perks – including but not limited to knowledge of questionably legal subterranean passageways throughout the city. He’s going to make damn good use of them now. He pulls into an acceptable spot, locks the car, and pulls Mike close.

He considers for a moment, then says, “Here,” and presses two fingers into Mike’s mouth. Mike gratefully laps at the digits as Harvey slings an arm around him and guides them both toward an unmarked gray door.

He sets a fast pace, because if they’re not naked on the floor of his condo in five minutes or less, he’s suing someone. Doesn’t even matter who is getting sued, but someone will be. He’s aiming for the floor at this point, for God’s sake! The bed isn’t even a possibility anymore. But fucking Mike up against the door outside his unit sure is. He hurries them up some more – he really loves that condo and isn’t looking to get kicked out for inappropriate hallway behavior.

Shit, Mike is looking more glassy-eyed by the second. It’s clearly his turn to guide the kid right now. Mike got them out of Pearson Hardman. Harvey can get them into his condo.

A few shady passageways and a quick jog through a lobby later, and they’re nearly there. Mike is listing heavily to one side, eyes unfocused, and his breathing is a little more shallow than Harvey would like. Unthinking, Harvey gives Mike a third finger. The kid moans, loud and long in the thankfully empty elevator bay. But the sound goes right to Harvey’s dick.

“Jesus, Mike,” he rasps. Mike just sucks harder on Harvey’s digits, and Harvey realizes that Mike’s wires have indeed crossed – this is not just for self-soothing right now, it’s also for sexual gratification.

God, he can’t wait one more second before Mike’s lips close around his dick. They board the elevator, leaning heavily on one another. If it weren’t glass, Harvey would be on his knees, begging Mike Ross to suck him off. He’s not even remotely ashamed or bothered by this. It’s just incontrovertible fact. He _needs_ those lips on him, right now. Mike looks like he’s also dying for a taste. And maybe a little relief of his own. After all, Harvey has come once already today. Mike has not, at least to Harvey’s knowledge.

The elevator digs and they step off. Harvey grips Mike’s ribs through his clothes and stares at the gray metal door. This is happening. Suddenly unsteady, he grabs Mike and drags him through the door, fingers still lodged firmly in his mouth.

Mike spits them out the second they get inside. He gets about a second’s worth of a glimpse of a very fine interior indeed before he’s spinning around and shoving Harvey up against the door. Harvey’s head thumps gently with the force of it. And then all at once, Mike is everywhere. He forces his way past Harvey’s lips, shoves his tongue in his mouth as far as it will go. He’s grabbing at Harvey’s hips, his ass, running his hands over Harvey’s thighs, squeezing his hips. Harvey can’t breathe. He’s at full mast again and aching for it. And good God, even though he’s still sticky from the last one, Mike Ross is suddenly dropping to his knees in front of him. His associate looks up at him with burning eyes.

“Sorry Harvey, can’t wait any more,” he says, and goes for Harvey’s fly.

It turns out Mike is an expert in sucking cock. He engulfs Harvey with a stifled moan, taking him down all at once. Right away, he starts sucking, fast and hard, utterly uncaring of the dried mess still covering Harvey’s skin. He’s going to get this man _messier_.

“Mmm,” Mike is moaning as he goes, and Harvey is quickly coming undone. He makes the mistake of looking down, and Jesus, Mike’s expression is almost beatific. It’s simultaneously the most beautiful and the most debauched sight Harvey has ever seen. Suddenly, Mike is vibrating, his hips making little aborted motions against the floor.

He doesn’t have to take the cock out of his mouth to speak, he’s so practiced at talking around the highlighters. So Harvey completely understands him when he says, “Shit, Harvey, too good, gonna –”

And then Mike Ross is coming untouched in his own suit all because he’s sucking Harvey’s cock. Harvey thinks he can be excused for exploding right then and there, no warning at all, because Jesus, that’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen in his fucking _life._ And Harvey’s seen a lot of beautiful things in his day. Bought them, had sex with them. But no one and nothing as beautiful as Mike Ross fucking losing it just from sucking his cock.

Mike licks up the last of Harvey’s come, and Harvey blanches as he realized Mike swallowed it all. He passes a sweat-slick hand over his face and slides down the door to sit in a fucked-out heap in front of an unmoving Mike.

Harvey opens his mouth to apologize, but Mike beats him to it.

“Sorry I came so fast. And sorry I didn’t ask if I could swallow. I really like to, and you taste _so_ good, holy shit. Like the best _ever_ , Harvey,” he says. “But still, should’ve asked.”

He starts to hang his head and Harvey has to reach forward, force his chin up so he can look him in the eyes.

“No you fucking shouldn’t have. I should’ve warned you, and I’m sorry, I really didn’t see it coming until it was already happening. You were…too good. Jesus, Mike, that’s the best blowjob I’ve ever had.”

“Really?” Mike perks up before frowning again. “But I came in my pants. You didn’t even get to fuck me.”

Harvey looks at him sternly and says, “Whoever made you feel like any of that matters when you’re this fucking amazing is a moron and I will personally ruin them at first chance. But right now, I’ll just say this: as long as you’re amenable, I _will_ be fucking you. You can fuck me, too, if you want,” he adds, and Mike looks ready to cream his pants again at the thought. Harvey files that away for later. “We can even 69,” he says, realizing how appealing something like that might be to Mike. And indeed, the kid looks like he might faint.

“Seriously?” Mike says. “Seriously?”

Harvey nods. “Yeah. Why not? 69 is awesome and your blowjobs are…shit, Mike, I’m not sure I’ll be able to concentrate but I’ll give it my goddamned best try.”

Mike still looks shell-shocked. “Nobody,” he says, “nobody has ever agreed before, let alone suggested…” His face falls flat. “Everybody thinks it’s weird. The oral thing,” he clarifies.

‘Everybody else you’ve been with is a moron, then, Mike,” Harvey says. “It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I came in my _office_ this morning just thinking about it, for God’s sake.”

Mike grins. “Oh yeah!” He laughs. “You totally did!”

Harvey laughs too, and then Mike makes a face and says, “Ew. We should get cleaned up.”

“That we should, Mike, that we should.” Harvey somehow manages to stand and reaches a hand down for Mike. He starts toward the nice big guest bathroom, still holding Mike’s hand. Halfway down the corridor, he stops and turns to face him.

“Just for the record? Seeing you come in your pants just from sucking me was literally the sexiest, filthiest moment of my life. Thanks for that.” And then he just turns right around again and continues on.

And Mike lets himself be led.


End file.
